


Night Minds

by skund



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cold night, a warm bed and an empty bottle, sharing the dark. Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/cliche_bingo/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/cliche_bingo/"><strong>cliche_bingo</strong></a>  prompt 'Rare Parings'. Movieverse Post-Dark Knight, Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk. Pre-Superman Returns and Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Minds

Gotham sulked in the darkest hour of the morning; scattered with so many twinkling lights the stars could barely compete. There was winter fog low on the bay and a chill in the air that went right down to the bones.

Bruce staggered out of the concealed door into his penthouse with exhaustion heavy on his shoulders. The glass walls offered a spectacular view of the city which he hardly saw. The apartment was deliciously warm – clearly his efforts to hide the thermostat remote from Alfred had been successful this time. His dear friend had complained extensively about the amount of energy needed to keep such an open, glass filled expanse this warm. Bruce had waved him off with the business section of the morning paper. What was the point of having more money than God if he couldn’t indulge in a few absurdities? Besides, he had to maintain his reputation for having more money than sense. Alfred had collected his breakfast tray whilst muttering something about glass houses and stones.

He didn't bother to turn the lights on; just padded through the rooms in nothing but his post-patrol sweatpants, bare feet silent on the Italian tiles. The sight of his ridiculously big bed in the shadows of his room was the sweetest thing he could think of. He collapsed onto the thousand thread count sheets with a grunt. The bed grunted back. Bruce frowned and raised his head, squinting into the darkness. He could just make out a shape in the pale starlight.

“Tony?”

The shape grunted.

Bruce kicked at him half-heartedly and almost didn’t miss the arm automatically flung at his face.

“Tony, what are you doing here?”

Tony groaned again and rolled over to face Bruce with bleary eyes, glaring at him in the glow from the arc reactor in his chest. “Y’know, generally one greets their lover with a little more enthusiasm.”

Bruce snorted and lowered his head onto the pillow. Tony wriggled closer and draped an arm across his side.

“Well?” Tony asked.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to start from top?”

Bruce closed his eyes.

“How about ‘Hi honey, how are you?’ Or ‘How was your day’? Or how about ‘I’m gonna fuck you four ways til Sunday’?”

“I need to sleep, Tony.”

“Hey, you’re the one who woke me up.”

“You could’ve gone to your place.”

“In what, New York? Bit far from here.”

“You can fly.”

“You can fly, you can fly, you can fly! Well, I was all out of pixie dust.”

Bruce exhaled and reached out an arm to pull Tony to him, wrapping one of his legs between Tony’s to keep him close. Tony smirked up at him and Bruce leaned over to cover that smug look with a kiss. Bruce had figured as much – Tony tasted like bourbon. Although the Disney quote had been a dead giveaway.

“Kissing me isn’t going to shut me up.” Tony said as soon as they parted.

“Have you been drinking again?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“You’re a terrible boyfriend.”

“_Touché_.”

Tony’s eyes were roaming over Bruce’s body as his fingers traced circles on his hips, calluses catching on the scars. “You look like shit, Bruce.”

Bruce had closed his eyes again. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“I mean it. How many walls have you been thrown into this week?”

“Seven.”

“Jesus. That’s... stupid. I could make you-“

“No.”

“-a suit, c’mon.”

“No.”

“I’ll paint it black.”

“No.”

“With self-targeting lasers.”

“No.”

“And a jetpack.”

“No.”

“Fine, well don’t come crying to me when you come home dead.”

“Oh yeah? And where were you today? Iraq? North Korea?”

“Somalia.”

“Pots and kettles much?”

“Fuck the cookware.”

Bruce sighed.

Tony watched him silently, the light from arc reactor throwing odd shadows on Bruce’s face.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Sleeping? Because it’s night time, Tony. It’s what people do.”

“No, this.” Tony stilled his wandering fingers for a moment to slide them down Bruce’s side and curl around his arse.

“Because gay is the new black.” Bruce muttered, curling deeper into the pillows.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

“How much did you have to drink again?” Bruce asked.

“Stop it. Give me something real.”

Bruce’s eyes slid open to frown at Tony.

“For once in your life stop acting and say something real.”

Bruce lay still, feeling Tony’s hands on his skin, the pull of the stitches over his ribs and the ache of mended bones that never really faded during winter. Studied Tony’s haggard face in the blue light, the mass of scar tissue on his chest and those dark, ever hungry eyes.

“No one else would put up with us.”

Whatever Tony had wanted to hear, that wasn’t it. Something about his face changed, withdrew. “Right.”

Bruce opened his mouth to say something else, something better, but words failed him.

“You’re right. I mean, you’ve gotta be crazy to do this gig, right?”

“Right.” Bruce replied softly.

“’Cause there’s just us.”

Bruce nodded slightly.

“Except for that giant green guy, but he’s pretty crazy. Well, craz_ier_, I guess. And apparently off the radar again.”

Bruce’s eyes were starting to slide closed.

“Wait, wasn’t there that other guy?”

“What guy?”

“That dude in Metropolis, big blue guy.”

“He’s gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know, probably dead I guess.”

“Poor fuck. Wasn’t he allergic to rocks or something though?”

Bruce half shrugged against his pillow.

“Right.”

Tony trailed off and silence quickly blanketed the room.

“You could still join the team.” The silence didn’t last long.

“No, Tony.”

“You’d like it.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

“No, but it’d give you something else to whine about.”

“I don’t whine.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Tony drawled.

“You don’t need me. Besides, aren’t you going after that World War Two guy?”

“What?”

“Commander Flag, or something. Big blond guy.”

“Captain America. No. I mean, yes, but that’s top secret S.H.I.E.L.D stuff. You’re not supposed to know about that. How do you know about that?”

“Calm down, Tony.” Was all the answer Bruce was willing to give.

Tony huffed.

“So, still going ahead with that?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Think it’ll work out?”

“I dunno. How much use could this guy be? I mean, he’s been lost since the 40’s. No internet, no computers, no cell phones, no microwaves, no electricity.”

“I’m pretty sure they had power back then.”

“Yeah, whatever. What I’m saying is that this guy is practically a caveman.”

“Neanderthal.”

“What?”

“Neanderthal, not caveman.”

“What? Oh shut up, Mr I-Went-To-Cambridge. They don’t teach that socialist rubbish at MIT.”

Bruce opened and eye and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Fine. Whatever. We’re still spending a quarter of a billion dollars to retrieve someone who still thinks suspenders are pretty nifty.”

“We’re saved.” Bruce deadpanned.

Tony smirked, leaning back into his own pillow. Bruce’s breathing was evening out into the deep rhythm of sleep. Tony watched him nod off before rolling over to slip out of the sheets, wincing as the empty bottle he knocked over clattered against the tiles. No way could he get back to sleep without a nightcap, bedside clock be damned. He walked through the darkened apartment to the bar, filled up a glass and slumped into the nearest chair. He held the glass up to the lights of the city, watching the amber liquid swirl around the tumbler.

He downed the glass’ contents in one motion, winced at the burn as it went down. “We’re saved.”


End file.
